


Too Late To Say Goodbye

by terminis



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, M/M, Past MaineWash, Unhappy Ending, literally the only thing i can write is angst this is a known fact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 18:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15442809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terminis/pseuds/terminis
Summary: Wash swallowed roughly, throat dry from lack of water and the punishing sun. “How did Maine feel about me?”





	Too Late To Say Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> [Beta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qhiskey/pseuds/qhiskey)  
> [Song](https://youtu.be/JxL4XVs_B9M)  
>  as always, the only thing that i can write is mainewash angst

The Meta stared at Agent Washington unsettlingly. Washington paused in eating his rations, a shitty meal of beans kept in a metal can that was attracting the sun a bit too much, to stare back. The not-as-shitty rations ran out weeks ago, leaving him and the Meta with meals of granola bars or beans or, when they weren’t as desperate, a mix of both. 

“What,” Washington asked with a flat tone, not caring about how rude it was, a single bead of sweat rolling down his face. The Meta grabbed its own helmet and took it off, empty dark brown, almost black, eyes staring into Wash’s gray. “What?”

Maine, Meta, he was the Meta now, growled softly and Washington froze, feeling his hand slide against the knife in the holster on his left arm, gripping the blade as if it was an extension of himself.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Wash snarled. The Meta didn’t deserve to apologize, didn’t deserve to do or say anything. The only reason Wash could even stomach working with it was the chance—the promise—of freedom at the end of the mission. That is, if they could make it to the end without the Meta shooting Wash or Wash slitting the Meta’s throat.

The Meta growled again, gloved hand reaching out for Wash, and Wash batted it away, trying to ignore how Maine-like the action was. Maine was dead. If the Meta kept this up then it would be dead too.

“You’re not him and you never will be,” Washington replied harshly, shoving the knife back into its holster, knowing that the Meta wasn’t picking a fight. Not yet, that is. Wash hated the Meta, although he still harbored feelings towards Maine, ones he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

They had been friends. They had been close, though not that much so— Well, Maine had known Wash’s real name, and Wash had known that Maine liked cats more than dogs, and he’d known that Maine shaved his hair because the soldiers at his old base would always shave it when he was sleeping so he had decided he might as well have made it easier for them, and Maine always did this thing when he laughed, however rarely it was, where his face would scrunch up adorably and just fucking _laugh—_

But Maine was dead, so what did it matter? The Meta couldn’t quite compare to Maine. Still, they were so similar sometimes that it hurt. The Meta had the same face as Maine and the same eyes and same muscles and shape but the Meta had more scars, more aggression, and it didn’t quite seem to care anymore. It was just— there. Where Maine always had his emotions on full display, the Meta was just… empty. Hollow.

Washington wondered how that felt sometimes; to have your brain be so full of voices and personalities and et cetera which contrasted so greatly with your own, only to be ripped of them all, left alone in your head like it was some massive battle and everybody just left for some reason, leaving you helpless and afraid and not knowing where you were going or what you were doing or why you were even alive anymore, why you had so much and now you had nothing—

Wash pushed down those thoughts and, however much he hated to say it, feelings. He didn’t quite like letting his emotions take hold, didn’t quite like the fact that he even _had_ emotions still.

Wash wondered if the Meta had feelings, then promptly shut down that train of thought. 

The Meta was Maine but also wasn’t and he needed to remember that. But it was so fucking hard and annoying and just plain wrong, just plain fucking unfair that Maine was dead and the Meta was empty and still forced to live—

Washington shoved his fingers into the rations, spoons and forks long gone, once more trying to shut off his feelings and emotions and thoughts as he shoveled the sun-heated beans into his mouth. It didn’t quite work.

So he settled for thinking about something else. He thought about where the Epsilon unit might be and how far away that area could be, he thought about how disgusting the rations were, he thought about the Meta’s hair, the little coarse tufts of black that had begun popping up on the Meta’s head, giving Wash another thing to distinguish it and Maine, thought about the hot desert sand and how Maine loved hot places and—

He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Maine. Fucks sake.

He didn’t even know _why_ he was thinking about Maine this much. Usually it was just some passing thought and then it was nothing else. Some quick little ‘Maine loved the sun,’ or something else like that. Now it’s this, these once fleeting thoughts turned into fucking comparison charts a teacher would give him an A fucking plus on, with Wash’s best friend and Wash’s enemy, the same armor and appearance but different minds and actions and Wash just wanted his fucking friend back—

“Hey, Meta,” Washington said, setting down the can. He turned to face the human weapon, not letting his guard down. The Meta stared back, face emotionless and dark eyes empty. “Do you have Maine’s memories and emotions?” Wash asked, because he had to know, he had to know how Maine felt towards him before his body was taken over and maybe, just maybe, it was because he was selfish.

The Meta growled a yes, lips pulled back to produce the guttural sound. The sun beat down on them and Wash wondered if it felt as hot as Wash did. He shouldn’t care how the Meta felt, though, so he also shut down that train of thought. 

Wash swallowed roughly, throat dry from lack of water and the punishing sun. He might’ve been nervous about the question that he was about to ask, but he’d never quite admit that. “How did Maine feel about me?”

The Meta didn’t respond. Washington stared at it, wondering if he pissed it off somehow. Then the Meta pushed a gloved finger into the orange sand, drawing out three simple words.

‘He loved you.’ The sand read in rushed, messy letters, the handwriting the exact same as Maine’s. Washington’s stomach clenched painfully for some reason as he stared at it. Maybe it was the past tense, the ‘loved’ not love, the knowledge that that meant Maine really was gone. Or maybe it was the meaning, that Maine loved Wash and didn’t tell him and the Meta was the one that had to.

The Meta put his—its—massive hand in the sand, black glove contrasting the orange of the desert sand, beginning to cover the message and Wash grabbed its white-clad arm, stopping it.

Wash wrote his own words just under the message, a few inches separating the two sentences.

‘I love him.’ Wash’s message read. He scraped warm, orange sand over the six words and got up, burying the mess that his rations left behind in a small hole he’d dug for that purpose when they first arrived in the area. The Meta stayed where it’d been, leaning on the rock, and Wash moved to another area, one where he could think.

He loved, loves, Maine. And he’s realizing that now, he’s realizing that fucking months after Maine died, months after Sigma, after that little hell AI tore Maine apart from the inside, and Wash didn’t even fucking realize it when it was actually important and Jesus fucking fuck—

It was a realization made way too late, but at least he realized. It’s better to know now than months, years, down the line. 

Or, well, he could keep telling himself that.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://souths-armpit-hair.tumblr.com/)  
>  comments and kudos are greatly appreciated as always


End file.
